


Road Trip Gone Wrong

by perfectpro



Series: Matchmaker [5]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-25
Updated: 2016-03-25
Packaged: 2018-05-25 14:57:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6199477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perfectpro/pseuds/perfectpro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A trip to Yale to watch Jackson's lacrosse game goes awry when an unsuspecting guest makes a surprise appearance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. "I'm not stalking someone, that would be crazy!"

Not every bad idea of Lydia’s is given to her by Allison, but a good many of them are. Which is fine, because Allison is her best friend and isn’t given enough credit for how devious she is – people tend to think of Lydia as the more cunning of the two, probably because of the red hair, something about it. And it’s not like this idea is exclusively Allison’s, because Lydia has done some expanding on it, but it has parts of both of them.

At least, that’s what she tries to tell herself when she finds herself on the interstate, Allison in the passenger seat and Danny in back row. Yale is only fifteen minutes out, and she only half wishes that she hadn’t grudgingly volunteered to drive Danny. Allison seems to be able to sense her distress, keeps changing music stations in search of something that fits the mood.

“You’re going to need to go up Elm, not Lincoln. Jackson’s in a different dorm this year,” Danny says, and Lydia flips off her turn signal and keeps driving straight, her smile set in a way that makes it obvious that she’s faking it. “You didn’t have to do this, you know. Ethan could have driven me,” he points out.

It’s a moot point, because Ethan is back in Boston and Lydia is behind the wheel. “It’s fine, really,” Lydia says, trying to make it sound like she means it. “Besides, Ethan hates Jackson and he’d spend the entire day with you trying to make himself look even more muscular than he already is.” At least that’s true.

“And who says that’s a bad thing?” Danny asks, snickering from the back. “And thanks, I guess. For driving me.”

“We needed to come up anyway, don’t worry about it,” Allison says, twisting around in her seat to smile at him. “So you’re watching the lacrosse game, and then you’re getting dinner? What time do you want to leave?”

It’s something Lydia’s been wondering, too, so it’s nice that Allison went ahead and asked. “We can leave whenever, just so you know,” she mentions. “This is Jackson’s dorm, right?” There’s no parking within clear view, and she takes a turn up a street that’s a one way, cursing all the while.

Danny grabs his bag and says, “Sometime after dinner. Nine, ten, is somewhere around then good?”

That gives Lydia about eight hours work with. She can do that. “Anytime around then sounds good. Shit, do you know any parking spots around here?” Because the public spots are filled, a few of them with the Yale parking passes that signal students who were too lazy to find a parking spot in their designated lot. Those are the reason she’s still driving around. Lydia mentally curses each and every one of them, wishing them an eternity of C- averages, finally finding a street that should take her back to Jackson’s dorm.

“Just drop me off. Hey, I never asked, what do you guys need to do at Yale anyway?” Danny asks, hand on the door handle as he waits for her to come to a stop.

And Lydia’s mind draws a complete blank, because it’s not like she can say that she’s kind of there to stalk her mother’s boyfriend’s son. That sounds creepy, and she’s not actually there to stalk him. Just to follow him without his knowledge. Okay, that sounds worse. She’s just coming to make sure that he’s not a creeper, nothing too bad.

Luckily, Allison has her back, piping up with an explanation about coming to see a lecture that’s being given about the latest method of memory improvement that’s being tried for people with Alzheimer’s. “It’s really new, and I just love the science behind memory. Did you know that no one has a photographic memory, there are just some people who are really good at using pneumonic devices?”

Thank God for Allison, Lydia thinks as she stops the car. And thank God that she doesn’t have to go in with Danny, because she’s not really looking forward to seeing Jackson, considering that the last time they’d seen each other they’d had a one night stand back in Boston and Allison had barged into her room when she’d seen Jackson sneaking out the back door in last night’s clothes, demanding details.

Look, Lydia’s not proud, but she does have needs.

“Yeah, my psych course went over that, I’d kind of forgotten about it. Okay, I’ll call you when I’m ready – oh, wait, Jackson said that the lacrosse team was throwing a party after the game if you guys are up for it?” Danny shrugs, looking to Lydia to gauge her reaction.

And while most of the time, Lydia wouldn’t have to think twice before rejecting the offer, she hesitates. It’s been a long week, one of her labs ran an hour later than it should have because her TA was being incompetent, and she had two tests on Thursday. It would feel good to cut loose for a while. “Allison?” she asks, considering.

Checking the mirror in front of her seat as she applies lip gloss, Allison gives a nod. “That sounds fun. I’ll drive back if you want to drink, Lyds. I don’t mind.” It’s true, as much as Allison loves a good party, she doesn’t need alcohol to have a good time, and Lydia’s used her as a designated driver enough times to know that.

Danny grins at them, mentions something about texting them later, and gets out before Lydia can be too annoyed with herself for agreeing. “You don’t have to drive back, I’m fine not drinking if we go. We don’t even have to go.”

Shutting the mirror and leaning over to flip the radio station again, Allison rolls her eyes. “We’re going, you’re drinking, and I’m driving back. You’ve been uptight, and if I have to spent one more night hearing you click your pen anxiously to yourself as you review notes neither of us are going to get a good night’s sleep.”

It’s times like these where Lydia’s thankful to have Allison for a best friend. “You know me so well. Alright, get the address out of my phone, it should be the last note I edited.”

Typing Lydia’s passcode into the phone, Allison flips through the pages of apps before finding the one that she wants. “Okay, I think we’re already pretty close. Maps says to make a right at the stop light up here.” She watches the street signs carefully, checking down at the phone to make sure they stay on track. “You know, this is actually kind of creepy.”

Because Lydia hasn’t thought of that. Still, she defends herself. “It’s not. What’s creepy is that he tried on my dress, who the hell does that? He’s not a size four, just look at the photo, for God’s sake!” She wrinkles her nose and makes the turn as directed, trying to remember if she’s been on this side of New Haven while visiting Jackson.

“I have seen the photo, you kept showing it to me and screaming after it happened, if you remember.”

“Well, you don’t seem to remember.” If she has to keep bringing it up, there’s surely a reason as to why.

“I remember he’s hot,” Allison remarks. “Right at the stop sign.”

“He’s not _hot_ , Allison.” Lydia can’t believe that they’re having this discussion. Again. Her taste in friends is terrible. Only that’s a lie, because surely without Allison by now she would have gone on a murder spree somewhere around finals week last semester. It hadn’t been pretty, but Allison had kept the body count down to punching bags in the gym in lieu of the people in her chemistry class who kept asking her for ‘study tips’.

Allison rolls her eyes yet again, because hot is subjective, and in her humble opinion, the boy had been hot. “This stop sign, right at this stop sign,” she exclaims when Lydia blows through the stop sign in question without pause.

Eyebrows in her hairline, Lydia tries to sculpt her features into something that doesn’t look so surprised. “I didn’t even see it, those people should have to trim their bushes. That has to be a legal hazard.” She pulls onto a different street and checks to make sure no one’s coming before making a U-turn and getting back on the road.

“The bushes weren’t blocking it; I saw it from all the way back there,” Allison points out. “Okay, and we’re…” She trails off, looking at the gates that sit between them and the apartment complex she has plugged into the GPS. 

“Well, fuck,” Lydia says, succinct. She sighs and slows down. “We need a keycard or a PIN, fuck.” Biting her lip, she brakes and shifts the car into reverse, jolting to a stop when Allison grabs her arm.

“Do you still want to get in?” Allison asks, looking behind them as another car pulls up.

“Well, yes, but-“

“Sit tight, I’ve got this,” Allison insists, tilting the rearview mirror toward herself as she adjusts her hair and tugs her shirt a little lower, putting some cleavage onto display. 

Lydia knows better to argue with Allison when she gets like this, so she shrugs and checks her side mirrors, watching the car come to a stop behind them. Probably wondering why they’re not moving, she muses, and then she gasps. “No, shit, stay in the car,” she hisses, reaching and grabbing Allison before she can slip out. “That’s him, oh my God, this can’t be happening.” This can’t be her life, but it is, and Stiles is driving the car behind them.

Allison jerks upright, checking the side mirror and gasping. “He’s cuter in person. Okay, I’ve still got this. He doesn’t know what I look like, it’s fine. Let me handle this.” And with that, she pulls her arm from Lydia’s grip and slips out of the car, a bounce in her step.

Lydia sits in the driver’s seat, frozen. There’s absolutely nothing good about this. She just wants to be back home in Boston. Agreeing to drive Danny to Yale is the worst idea she’s had in the history of ever, and that includes when she went through her first finals week on ten hours of sleep, three packs of RedBull, and Twizzlers. She watches, unable to take her eyes away from the train wreck that’s about to occur, as Allison gets to Stiles’s car and he rolls the window down.

Apparently it’s a good thing Allison took the time to adjust herself, because Stiles looks positively lovestruck. Lydia rolls her eyes, thinking of all the times she’s seen Isaac wear that same expression, aimed at the same girl.

When Allison comes back, Lydia’s ready for the worst. She doesn’t know what the worst is, necessarily, but she’s ready for it. What she isn’t ready for is the confusion.

“Okay, so he told me his name was Scott, not Stiles?” Allison starts as soon as she gets the door open.

“Maybe Stiles is a family nickname?” Lydia can’t think of anyone actually being _named_ Stiles, so that’s as good of a guess as any. “It could be his dad still calls him that, so that’s what I know him as.”

“Maybe.” Allison pauses, and then straightens her back. “Right! He gave me his keycard so we can drive in. I told him that I just moved into the complex and didn’t have my keycard yet, and I couldn’t remember the combo.”

God bless Allison. Lydia grabs the keycard and waves it to the scanner, which beeps. The gate swings open before them, and Lydia drives through and comes to a stop under a tree that will hopefully shield her to where Stiles/Scott won’t be able to make her out while Allison returns the keycard.

For good measure, she even puts on sunglasses. Even though she’s parked in the shade and it looks absolutely ridiculous, but, God, does she wish she brought a scarf. Anything for concealment, because the last thing she wants to happen is for him to recognize her. She really needs to talk to her mother about showing her pictures to complete strangers she meets in the coffee shop, oh my God.

Minutes pass, and when Lydia peeks over the pack of her seat, she sees Allison and Stiles/Scott talking happily through his open window. He gives a wave to somewhere in the back of the apartment complex, and Allison laughs, tilting her head back like she does when she wants to show off.

Lydia wants to call her mother and tell her that she certainly set Stiles up, all right, only with Allison. Not that she wants Stiles, but the point stands that her mother intended him for her. 

God, she’s turning into one of those old, bitter, single people. 

Allison finally waves Stiles/Scott goodbye and trots over to Lydia as Stiles/Scott drives away. Lydia unlocks the car doors and waits expectantly. Tilting her head to make sure he won’t be able to get a good look at her, just in case.

“Okay, Scott is Stiles’s roommate!” Allison cheers, opening the door and climbing back in. “I may have lied a bit and told him that I was overwhelmed with unpacking and that’s how I forgot the keycard, and he said that moving could do that to a person – apparently he and Stiles moved here the beginning of this semester,” she explains, grinning widely.

Allison keeps talking, but Lydia zones out. Roommate. Lydia racks her brain, trying to remember if Stiles has ever mentioned having a roommate before. She’s only talked to the guy twice, it definitely might not have come up before. Not that she plans to talk to him more. Whatever. And college kids have roommates, she knows that, every college kid she knows has a roommate. “Okay, roommate, cool.” She pauses. What now?

Getting to Yale was the only real step to her plan. Now that she’s here, she’s not really sure what she ought to be doing.

“Yeah, roommate. Anyway, Scott offered to help me unpack tomorrow, so now there’s that.” Biting her lip, Allison stares ahead and blushes profusely. “I tried telling him it was fine, really, he just kept insisting! And he said he’d probably make muffins, as a housewarming gift. He’s the nicest person ever, can you believe that?” She laughs nervously, brushing a lock of hair out of her face.

It’s then that Lydia sighs and puts her car into reverse, backing out of the parking spot and shaking her head. “Let me get this straight. You said you just moved in here, and that’s why he let us through the gate. And now, stop me when I’m wrong, he’s going to come over your nonexistent apartment to unpack nonexistent boxes while you eat the muffins he’s slaved over.” This is why Allison shouldn’t be trusted to enact plans without having Lydia review them first. She thought they’d learned from the senior prank.

With slow exhale, Allison nods. “I may have agreed to that. Yes.”

“You couldn’t have told him you were visiting a friend?”

“I panicked, okay? He’s cute, and I panicked,” Allison snaps, reaching for the radio and pulling her hand back when Lydia stops her.

Again, this is why Lydia needs to pre-approve the plans. “The last boy you panicked for was…” She trails off, and then she remembers. Isaac was the last boy that Allison panicked at. “You can’t have some weird maybe-on, maybe-off again relationship with this boy, he goes to Yale. It will take you two hours to have weird date-ish things that you later deny existed!”

“Isaac and I have never had a weird relationship!” Allison yells, exasperatedly grabbing the radio knob and cranking the sound up. If drowning Lydia out is the only way she’s going to end this conversation early, so be it.

Smacking her shoulder, Lydia retorts, “But you knew who I was talking about! Just make up your mind and date Isaac and have adorable aerospace engineering babies with him!”

It’s a conversation they’ve had too many times to count, and Allison is beyond tired of it. “Can we talk about you for a second? You’re here to stalk some guy you’ve talked to twice, what’s that all about? And where are we even going?” she asks waving at how Lydia’s taken to driving down random streets in the complex.

Lydia tightens her hands on the wheel, looking around. “We are… I don’t even know.” She pulls into a parking spot in front of a building and rolls her shoulders up. God, does it feel good to do that, she’s been driving for the better part of two hours. Sitting in the silence, she fidgets until it becomes a little too much to bare. “Okay, so maybe this has not been my brightest hour, or day, whatever. But I’m not stalking someone; that would be crazy!”

Facebook stalking is one thing. Stalking in the real world is entirely different, not to mention punishable by a court of law. And that type of stalking _would_ be crazy. Which is why Lydia doesn’t do it.

Allison drums her nails lightly on the arm rest. “So you just wanted to drive to Yale to find where Stiles lived and, what? Ask him to come hang out sometime? Is that why you freaked out when you saw Scott?” She pauses, lets her point sink in until smugness is practically rolling off her in waves.

“I’m not stalking someone, would you drop it? That’s it, we are leaving, we’re going to go get food and pick up mixers for the lacrosse party. Boys never bring enough mixers,” she grumbles.

Rolling her eyes, Allison leans back and nods, settling in for the drive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I KNOW, I KNOW. It's been a while - but I'm posting something! Finally! And just so you guys know, the other two chapters of this installment have been written and are waiting to be posted. They're just not posted yet because I like making you suffer.


	2. "He's baking you muffins, I shouldn't need to come save you."

After eating at some random diner that had the best Philly cheese steak sandwiches Lydia’s had outside of Pennsylvania, they end up wandering through campus, taking in the sites and catching up. It’s been weeks since Lydia and Allison have actually had free time that’s lined up, and they’re spending it curled up on a bench as Allison reenacts the inane questions that some guy in her thermodynamics class never runs out of.

“So the professor spends the entire class proving that the Joule-Thompson coefficient is nonzero for non-ideal gases, and this guy just raises his hand and demands to know what the value is for ideal gases. It’s like he hadn’t been there the entire week,” Allison bemoans, kicking her legs out from under her.

Lydia wrinkles her nose and nods, because there’s nothing worse than someone wasting her time in class. She can only imagine how she’d feel about it if she was a professor. “Maybe he hadn’t been. Guys like that never actually come to class,” she points out. Restless, she leans down and pulls a few pieces of grass out. “Do you remember what time the lacrosse game was supposed to start? Or end?” Because while it’s not like she’s only sticking around for a party, but she’s been looking forward to it and now she’s impatient.

Allison pulls out her phone and taps a few buttons. “I can’t find a time, but I found a campus map. Want to go find where the field is? We can watch the rest of the game, it’ll be like old times. Only you won’t have to cheer for Jackson now.” Slipping Lydia a grin, she turns back to her phone and pulls up an image, studying it carefully.

“We’re outside the library,” Lydia provides helpfully. “And maybe it won’t be boring, this way.” She pauses, glances over to find Allison shooting her a disbelieving look, and amends it to, “Maybe it won’t be as boring. Doesn’t Danny play on our team?” Because she knows Danny is in something that keeps him busy, but it might just be his classes, because God knows those keep Lydia busy enough as it is.

Arching an eyebrow, Allison sighs. “Yes, Danny’s on our lacrosse team. That’s how we met Isaac, we went to one of their after parties, don’t you remember? It was actually when they played against Yale last year.”

Which would also make it the same party that Lydia slept with Jackson after. That explains why she can’t remember it, now that Allison mentions it. “Speaking of that,” Lydia starts, trailing off as she becomes unsure of how to word what she means next.

“I’m not letting you sleep with Jackson again, if that’s what you’re about to say. You need to have standards,” Allison says, standing and looking around as she rotates the image on her phone, finally having found their location on the map.

Jackson is a smart, fairly successful guy. Lydia could do worse, even if she is looking to do better. But he’s convenient, and he can eat her out like a pro. “Jackson’s smart, at least.” That much is true, even if his is an idiot at times. It still sounds like an excuse. “And if I want to sleep with him, I will, and you can’t stop us.”

Not what she was intending to go for, but when Lydia’s met with a challenge she meets it head on. Her mother always used to say that the best way to get her to do something was to say that she couldn’t. Looks like it’s still true, she thinks, following Allison past the library and towards a collection of taller buildings.

“Fine, but you’re going to regret it in the morning. Also, if we’re staying, where am I sleeping tonight? Assuming that you do end up sleeping with Jackson, you’ll be in his bed, and Danny will presumably be on his couch. He’s a college kid, he’s not going to have a guest bed,” she says, checking the name of the building as they pass and comparing it with the map.

Lydia thinks it over, and the she remembers Danny bringing it up when he’d talked to her about driving up. “His roommate is home for the weekend, I’m pretty sure. You can just stay in that guy’s room.”

“Oh, that sounds great. Whatever, I’ll make it work.” At least it probably won’t be as bad as the time Lydia dragged her to NYU for some guy and they’d ended up taking the subway and several buses back in the early hours of the morning. This time if they’re staying she’ll at least has a mattress. 

Zipping up her jacket, Lydia thinks it over. “I don’t even know if we’re staying. Are you still fine with being designated driver? If you’re not, I’ll do it, I don’t mind.” 

“No, it’s fine, I’ve got it. We’ll just decide if we’re staying before we get there.”

They keep walking, Allison guiding them towards where the field should be, and Lydia declares, “We’re not staying if they lose.”

Allison would have been able to guess that, but she just comments, “Jackson is a sore loser.”

“And he’s such an idiot when he’s mad about dumb things like that. It’s definitely a turn off. These shoes really weren’t made for walking this far, you know, and the car is all the way on the other side of campus.” She’s not pouting, but these are new shoes, and she wasn’t counting on the blisters that have probably started to form on her heel. Serves her right for wearing heels, probably.

“Walking is good for you. We’re almost there, anyway. Come on, I bet you and Danny can help devise strategies for them during half time,” she suggests, remembering how Lydia had kept herself entertained during lacrosse games she’d had to attend for Jackson throughout high school. “There’s Danny, see?”

Sure enough, Danny is in the semi-populated stands, waving them over as he motions excitedly to the field. Lydia loops one of her arms through Allison’s, letting the brunette through the crowd as she tries to find what’s so exciting. Ah, of course. In a scene that’s so reminiscent of high school that she almost starts to worry about her curfew, Jackson has hold of the ball and slings it past the goalie into the net.

The crowd cheers, and Lydia rolls her eyes. Jackson really doesn’t need other people to inflate his ego. He does well enough with that on his own. Still, she claps so as not to appear like she’s unsupportive.

“Who are they even playing against?” she whisper hisses at Allison, climbing the bleachers carefully in her heels. God, it really does feel like high school all over again, right down to where she feels obligated to feel interested.

Working her way through people down the row, trying to get to Danny, Allison looks over to the field and squints at the bright orange jersey’s that are playing opposite Yale’s white. “No idea. Maybe an out of state school. Hey, what’s the score?” she asks when they finally reach Danny, letting Lydia squeezing in between them. 

“7-5, thanks to the goal Jackson just got. What were you guys up to?” he asks, looking back to the field and studying the players. “I should keep playing. Why did I try to step back this year on the team?”

“Because you’re busy with your CS degree and the robotics club. Who are they even playing?” Lydia asks, sitting down as the rest of the crowd begins to do so. It was a longer walk than she’d been prepared for, and her feet need some down team.

Sitting next to her, Danny points to the other team’s bench. “Princeton, you didn’t recognize that glaring orange?”

Lydia shrugs and reaches for her purse. “I try not to notice too much of anything about Princeton. And even if you had more time for lacrosse, would you be using it to play or to keep an eye on the other players?” she asks knowingly. After all, lacrosse is how Danny and Ethan met, and she gets far too much enjoyment from taunting him about locker room clichés.

With a laugh, Allison leans forward to wink solicitously at Danny. “Somebody’s got to keep watch over their form, am I right?” Turning back to the field, she winces and gestures at some of BU players. “Speaking of, oh my God, Beacon Hills had better form than that. Come on, have they never handled a stick before?”

“I’m sure they’ve handled a stick before,” Lydia says, pulling her compact out of her bag.  
Snickering, Danny elbows her and then swats her compact away. “Come on, Lydia, at least pretend to like the game. You’ve certainly seen enough of them to know what’s going on.”

“Exactly. I spent two years pretending to like lacrosse games, and that’s two too many for my taste. Just because I happened to pick up some knowledge about the game doesn’t mean that it’s suddenly become enthralling. I don’t mind the ones at MIT because at least I know the players. It makes judging their butts in their uniforms a little more fun. Oh come on, you check out Ethan’s ass all the time,” she defends herself.

“They’re dating, of course he does. Oh, wait, this is going to be good,” Allison says, piquing up as one of the Yale players passes the ball to a player near the goalie, who manages to swing it around to the original player, snapping the ball into the goal in one smooth motion, throwing his stick up once the net swings back from contact.

Danny lets out a whistle as the stands once again leap to their feet. “That’s the guy who assisted Jackson’s last goal. Damn, that was a great play. Princeton’s got to be kicking themselves,” he says, looking to where the scoreboard has been changed from 7-5 to 8-5. 

It was a good play, she’ll give the guy that much. Finishing her golf clap, Lydia waits until the crowd settles back down and it’s socially acceptable for her to sit back down again. Resting her head on her chin, she looks at Allison and barely resists pouting as she asks, “When’s half time, again?”

-x-

As the game draws to a close, Lydia ignores Allison scowling beside her as she touches up her makeup.

“I swear to God, if you’re doing this to impress Jackson, I’m going to drag you back to MIT until you have more sense in you. He’s such an asshole, tell her, Danny,” Allison asserts, pulling Danny over to them by his shoulder.

“You realize you’re talking about my best friend, right?” After waiting for Allison to nod sheepishly, he shrugs and takes Lydia’s compact away from her. “He’s an asshole, please don’t ever get back together. Now let’s go congratulate that asshole on his game-winning assist.”

Narrowing her eyes, Lydia caps her lipstick and places it back in her purse. “Like I’d ever want him back.” Nevertheless, she sneaks one last look at herself in the compact mirror before putting it away and looking towards the lacrosse field, trying to seek Jackson out among the players. “Although, I think maybe we should plan on staying the night. If you don’t mind,” she mentions to Allison.

“I said ‘please’, does that mean something different to you?” Danny demands, starting off across the field.

With a sigh, Allison resigns herself to sleeping in Jackson’s roommate’s bed. “Whatever you want,” she says, pulling Lydia along to catch up with Danny, who has disappeared among the lacrosse team.

They hear Jackson before they see him, a sudden, “Mahealani!” that gets their attention, to where the captain of their old lacrosse team is embracing his old co-captain. Trotting over to join Danny, Lydia brushes a lock of hair behind her ear and Allison resists the desire to grab Lydia and start the drive back to MIT.

Pulling away from Danny, Jackson takes notice of the two girls who accompanied him. Though his glance slides by Allison without a second thought, he looks at Lydia and makes a smirk that sends Allison’s mind straight back to senior year. “Lydia. You look pretty good.”

Lydia sighs, and Allison recognizes that dopey look from back when Lydia was still pretending that she wasn’t actually smart. “Jackson. Nice game.”

Allison cannot wait to leave.

-x-

The party is mostly relaxed, people standing around and passing drinks back and forth as they congratulate the players on their favorite moments from the game. Sitting on the arm of the chair that Jackson’s in, Lydia tugs Allison closer to her and steals a sip from her drink briefly. She pulls back with a sour look on her face, glaring at her friend. “Why didn’t you tell me that it was pineapple?”

“If you’d asked, maybe I would have,” Allison informs her, humming to herself as she looks around the room. “Do you want me to get you something else?” she asks, drifting off when she notices that Lydia doesn’t have a drink in her hand. She glances around, trying to figure out where it could have gone to, finally finding it in Jackson’s hand as he gestures with it while talking to a teammate.

Shrugging, Lydia sighs and gets off the couch. “I’ll go with you, come on,” she says, tugging Allison with her.

Jackson turns and gives a halfhearted wave before going back to his conversation, and Allison sighs as she follows Lydia through the house towards what must be the kitchen, looking around at the other people. It’s mostly lacrosse players, having changed out of their sweaty gear, and a few girlfriends and friends of the players.

As she tops off her new drink, Lydia jumps when Allison clamps down on her arm. “What?” she hisses, looking around for the cause of panic.

“Scott’s here,” Allison whispers frantically, motioning to the porch where a collection of guys are organizing beer bottles. “Scott from the apartment complex, Scott who you thought was Stiles!”

Leaning forward to get a better look, Lydia hisses, “No way!” She taps at Allison’s hand until her arm is released, and then she turns back to Allison. “That’s him, oh my God. I can get Jackson to leave now if you want,” she starts, reaching for her cell phone. “Hell, we can just head back, I don’t think Danny’s had anything to drink yet.”

“Why would we leave?” Allison asks, eyebrows still in her hairline. “He’s hot, we’re not leaving right now.” Adjusting her shirt, she pats Lydia’s back and straightens her posture. “Stay here for a moment, if I give you the look, come out and save me.”

“He’s baking you muffins, I shouldn’t need to come save you,” Lydia calls, but she stays put even after Allison leaves, only moving to keep her friend in her line of sight. Because really, if this boy is making muffins there should be nothing to worry about. People who know how to make muffins are automatically trustworthy. 

She sips at her drink and watches Allison go up to the boy from the car, who goes in for a hug instantly. That’s kind of cute, actually, she thinks. Wait, scratch what she just thought about muffins equaling trust, because hugs on first meeting don’t equal trust, more often they equal creep and Lydia clutching Allison’s arm as she insists that it’s time to go. 

As Scott and Allison talk, someone else approaches the group, throwing an arm around Scott’s shoulders as they share a joke. Lydia watches quietly as Allison is introduced, reaches out to shake the guy’s hand and then meets Lydia’s eyes through the window.

Wide, panicked eyes? That’s Lydia’s cue, and she grips her drink and elbows her way through the crowd to the door, moving past people who are too drunk to care, celebrating their victory. As she makes it to the door and steps outside into the fresh air, Allison suddenly appears in front of her.

“Wrong signal, you need to leave,” Allison hisses, trying to push her back through the door.

“What? Why did you look at me then?” Lydia demands, swatting Allison back and letting the door swing shut behind her.

Frantic, Allison reaches for the handle. “Get back in there, I did that because I met–”

“Lydia?” someone asks from behind them, and Allison jumps, turning to show a tall guy with freckles who’s staring at them with confusion.

“Stiles,” Allison finishes, dropping the door handle and sighing.


	3. “Wait, who were you stalking?”

“Lydia?” someone asks from behind them, and Allison jumps, turning to show a tall, lanky guy who’s staring at them with confusion.

“Stiles,” Allison finishes, dropping the door handle and sighing.

Lydia freezes up, only barely holding on to her drink as she looks up to see Stiles, staring at her like he can’t quite figure out what she’s doing here. It’s actually a pretty good question, all things considered.

Looking between Allison and Lydia and finding no answers, Stiles looks over to Scott, who makes his way over to them slowly, leaving behind the guys who are trying to build a tower out of beer cans. “Lydia?” he asks again, hesitantly, squinting at her as though to check to see if she’s real.

Swallowing her pride, Allison nods slowly. “Lydia, this is Stiles,” she says, worrying at her lip as she watches her friend’s frozen expression slowly begin to thaw as Lydia thinks of something that will get them out of this without admitting that they tried to find where this guy lived, because Allison doesn’t think she can live with that kind of embarrassment, and also she’d kind of like to see his roommate again at some point.

“Oh my God, Stiles?” Lydia asks, steadying herself against the door before pushing off of it. “What the hell?”

Shocked, Stiles keeps staring at her, finally repeating, “Lydia?” He looks back over to Scott, who’s standing behind Allison and draws his eyebrows together as he considers what’s going on.  
“Wait,” Scott starts, leaning in front of Allison to see Stiles better. “Lydia, the girl with the dress?” he asks, realization dawning slowly. 

At that, Lydia straightens up and glares at Scott. “The dress that you tried on, I’m impressed that you didn’t rip the seams,” she snaps.

Reaching out to tap Scott’s shoulder and stop him from responding, Stiles still looks like he’s processing everything. “You go to MIT. Why are you here?” he asks, looking around as though there might be something nearby that could clue him in to what he’s apparently been missing.

Lydia turns back to Stiles and opens her mouth, and then closes it. Stalling for time by taking a drink, she glances over to Allison, who is too busy looking through the window into the living room to notice. “One of our friends is on the team, we came to watch his game. I didn’t know you’d be here, oh my God.” And then, unnecessarily, because she hasn’t embarrassed herself enough for the day, she adds, “I’m not stalking you.”

“I never said you were,” Stiles says, looking to Scott and mouthing ‘What?’ before looking back to Lydia and shrugging. 

“So how do you guys know each other?” Scott finally asks, looking between Lydia and Allison in a desperate attempt to diffuse the weird tension.

Eyes wide, Allison blurts, “old friends” at the time that Lydia answers, “roommates,” before glancing to Allison in confusion. 

Scott and Stiles stare at each other as Allison starts, saying, “Well, we are old friends.”

“I thought you just moved into the apartment,” Scott says, and that’s when Lydia realizes that they’ve well and truly gone and fucked this up. If there’d been a chance for them to make it out with Scott and Stiles none the wiser, it’s not there anymore. Lydia bites her tongue, keeping herself from cursing out loud.

“We used to be roommates, before she moved, and I’m just here to help her move. And to watch our friend’s lacrosse game. Which is why we’re here, as in the party, but I’m here at Yale because… She moved,” Lydia finishes lamely, reaching an arm out to grab Allison’s wrist. “Right?” she hisses, fighting the temptation to drain the rest of her drink and march into the house and tell Danny they have to leave right now.

Stiles bites his lip and takes a sip from his own drink, letting Lydia’s words sink in.

Next to him, Scott looks at Allison and frowns in concentration. “So, wait, did you go to MIT? Why did you transfer?”

Allison holds herself back from singing MIT’s praises, because she wouldn’t transfer, number one, but Scott can’t know that if they’re going to get away with this. And hopefully they’ll be able to get away with it. Swallowing her pride, she fumbles and says, “Well, it just wasn’t the right… Fit, for me,” she ends lamely.

“Yeah, well, I hope Yale’s the right fit,” Stiles says, looking to the overhand above them before taking a long drink and then staring sadly into his cup. “I’m going to get some more,” he says, opening the door.

“I’ll come with you,” Lydia offers, eager to get as far away from whatever’s going on with Scott and Allison.

Following him back through the door and into the kitchen, Lydia notices that the alcohol selection is much more sparse than it had been when she’d been inside only a few minutes ago. And she doesn’t really need a new drink, but she just met Stiles. It’s time to top off, she thinks, grabbing a bottle of vodka and adding an extra shot or two into her already half-full cup.

Next to her, Stiles is mixing ginger ale and a kind of dragonberry flavored rum together, waving at a few of the guys around them. When he finish pouring his drink, he leans against the counter and stares at Lydia, sizing her up. “So,” he starts slowly, looking around to make sure that no one is paying too much attention to them, “What are you really doing here? Because you definitely lied about Allison moving. Scott probably won’t call her on it, but that’s because he’s too nice for his own good.”

Lydia narrows her eyes at him and swirls the alcohol in her cup around a bit. “So are you saying you’re not nice?”

He laughs, suddenly tilting his head up and letting loose. When he’s calmed down, Stiles stares at her over the brim of his cup and answers, “I’ve never nice.”

Cocking a hip against the counter, she rolls her eyes good-naturedly. “Like I said, we know one of the guys on the team. Are you on the team?” Because, really, anything to distract him at this point.

“Yeah, lucky number twenty-four,” he comments, frowning at his drink before shrugging and taking a swallow anyway. For a moment, he looks confused, and then repeats the action before frowning again.

Lydia tries to remember some of the plays. “Oh, you were the assist to number eleven. Nice pass,” she says, because while she’s not strictly interested in lacrosse, she’s found that it can be vaguely entertaining when she’s not watching just to inflate Jackson’s ego. It’s been a spot of personal growth for her, not hating accompanying Allison to Isaac’s and Danny’s games.

Pausing for a moment, Stiles furrows his brow and then nods. “Yeah, actually. Thanks. Who do you guys know on the team?” He looks around, observing the lacrosse players around them and trying to figure out how Lydia might know them. “Tell me it’s not–”

“Jackson Whittemore,” she answers, trying to look out the window to see if Scott and Allison are still on the porch or if they’ve moved. Spying Allison’s braid outside, she takes a drink and looks over to Stiles, who looks as though he’s just bitten into a particularly sour lemon. “What?”

He winces once more before trying for a more neutral expression and failing completely, ending up looking like someone who’d just been kicked in the face. “Nothing, I just… Wait, are you guys friends with him, or do you know him? Because Jackson doesn’t seem like to type to have many friends if we’re being honest here.”

Oh, God, it’s so true that Lydia can’t stop herself from laughing, trying to hold her drink steady as she shakes. “So I guess he hasn’t changed since high school then,” she muses. “And I’m not really friends with him. Ex-girlfriend. I’m still friends with his best friend, though, so I came along for the ride.” And to kind of stalk the person standing in front of her, but he really doesn’t need to know that.

With an arched eyebrow, Stiles looks her up and down and finally nods. “Your mom mentioned you were the queen bee in high school, I should have figured you’d have been a trophy girlfriend then as well. Let me guess, you were head cheerleader or something, too? Perfect couple,” he assumes, shaking his head slowly.

“Please, I wasn’t a cheerleader, oh my God. I was just popular. Let me guess, you’re the high school nerd who hated the in crowd, and you couldn’t even be happy with your own friends because they weren’t seen as cool,” she retorts, because if that’s true then she knows exactly what kind of guy he is.

Stiles has the nerve to snort at that. “I was the sheriff’s kid, you think I was getting invited to parties? Of course I wasn’t popular,” he says, still laughing. “I got over it, you kind of have to. Okay, we’re getting off topic, because I want to go back to how you dated that,” he emphasizes. He points to where Lydia can make out Jackson in the living room, still sitting in the same spot she’d left him in, only another girl has taken her spot. Two girls, actually. And Jackson isn’t even paying them attention, talking with some guy from the team and then crushing a beer can.

It’s a good point, something that Lydia’s had to think long and hard about why she felt she needed to be popular for so long. But that’s a heavy conversation, and she doesn’t know Stiles like that. She’s not sure she wants to.

Distracting him, she moves her arms back and teases him, adopting the prim voice she hasn’t had to use since senior year, “You weren’t popular? Oh my God, don’t touch me.” 

“You’re the worst kind of person,” he says, reaching forward to put a hand on her arm.

“Stop it,” Lydia laughs, twisting backwards watching as he keeps moving his arm towards her only to have it yanked away at the last second.

Jerking to see who grabbed him, Stiles turns to reveal Danny standing behind him, positively glowering. 

Voice like steel, Danny says carefully, “She said not to touch her.” He doesn’t move to let go of Stiles’s arm either, holding it in a vice-like grip as he stares Stiles down. Without looking away, he asks, “Lydia, are you ready to go?”

Gasping, Lydia shakes her head rapidly. “Danny, no, it’s fine, we were joking around. Really, let him go, it’s okay,” she babbles, pulling Danny away from Stiles and looking at Stiles to make sure Danny hadn’t grabbed him too hard.

“You’re okay?” Danny asks her, loosening his grip but not letting go of Stiles entirely until she reassured him once again. 

“I’m fine, really, would you let him go?” Lydia pleads, pulling harder on him. 

“Do you have a problem or something, buddy?” someone asks, and Lydia looks over to see that Scott’s appeared by Stiles, glaring at Danny as Allison pales beside him.

“We’re good, he just was checking on Lydia,” Stiles says, raising his hands defensively. “No problems.”

“No problems,” Lydia repeats for Scott’s benefit, telling Danny, “I’m fine, there’s not a problem.” Turning back to the group at large, she inhales through her teeth and says, “So, Scott, Stiles, this is Danny. He goes to MIT, too.”

Finally at ease, Danny nods to Scott and then Stiles. “Sorry about that. I just don’t like it when… You know,” he says finally, looking to Lydia sheepishly. “I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Lydia nods. Danny’s protective streak has certainly come in handy a few times at parties around campus with guys who hadn’t taken rejection too well. And she doesn’t know how far things would have gone without him to back her, but she’s thankful that she doesn’t. Resting her hand more gently on his arm, she says, “Thank you,” because she can’t be mad at him for something like that.

“I totally get it,” Stiles says without hesitation. To Scott, he mentions, “Cora and Malia would kick my ass in addition to any guys, but I totally get it.” He turns back to Danny. “I’m Stiles, by the way,” he introduces himself, reaching forward and extending his hand, grinning.

“Good to meet you guys,” Danny says, finally moving to where he’s not standing between her and the guys. “Are you guys on the team?”

“I’m number eleven, he’s twenty-four. Like she said, I’m Scott,” Scott says, introducing himself as well.

“Oh man, you guys had some great passes,” Danny says enthusiastically, nodding as he remembers the game.

As the guys all start reminiscing on the game, Lydia steps over and locks arms with Allison. “See, things are going well,” she says, though as she says it she remembers Stiles calling her bluff on Allison transferring. Okay, things are going mostly well, and hopefully they’ll be able to make it through the night with no one else the wiser.

“I told Scott I’m not actually living in their apartment complex,” Allison confesses, lowering her voice. “I said that we were just going to drive by, out of curiosity, but the gated area caught us off guard, and we panicked. It’s okay, he thought it was hysterical, and he said he wouldn’t tell Stiles,” she whispers, smiling encouragingly. 

“Of course he’s going to tell Stiles,” Lydia snaps, clenching her jaw. “They’re best friends, of course he’s going to tell Stiles, but at least he found it funny. Thank God for that,” she mutters. It’s not what she wanted, but it’s definitely better than the worst case scenario. Though, at this point, she’s not sure what the worst case scenario is.   
Shrugging, Allison takes a drink and says, “Well, it wasn’t like you were stalking him.”

“Wait, who were you stalking?” Stiles asks, leaning away from Danny and Scott to grin at Lydia, seemingly endlessly cheered by the prospect of her going and stalking someone.

Scott barks a laugh and cuts himself off just as suddenly when Allison glares daggers at him, and Danny just turns to Lydia with an arched eyebrow that she wants to shave off just to teach him a lesson. But then she remembers that Danny’s one of her best friends, and she really can’t afford to lose the person who provides most of her daily dose of sarcasm. 

If she’s going down, she’s taking everyone else with her. “Allison isn’t transferring to Yale, she’s staying at MIT, and she lied to Scott for him to get us through the gate, because I was going to drive by, just because I was curious, I wasn’t actually stalking you. Although I understand how it could be confused with that, I didn’t seek out contact with you, meeting you here was entirely unplanned.” 

Stiles’s jaw drops, Scott looks like someone just let a trapdoor out from under him, and Danny’s judgmental look just gets more judgmental. 

Slowly, Stiles starts out, “Wait, you were… You were stalking me?”

There’s only one way to distract Scott and Stiles at this point, and she’s really hoping that she didn’t misinterpret Stiles’s look earlier in the night when she mentioned why there were here. “Danny is Jackson’s best friend,” she blurts, praying that it’ll help them forget about her.

Her words have the desired effect. Stiles and Scott both look away from Lydia and Allison, turning their attention to Danny. Stiles’s look changes from astonished to betrayed, and Scott looks like someone just kicked his puppy. Danny is still staring at Lydia, his jaw hanging open in surprise.

“You’re Jackson’s best friend?” Stiles asks, forcing the words out as he trades looks with Scott.

Danny snaps his jaw shut and glares at Lydia. “We played lacrosse together in high school,” he starts out, and Lydia feels victorious, because that’s not the whole story and Danny knows it.

“They’ve been best friends since elementary school,” she calls, smirking and squeezing Allison’s arm.

Stiles gasps sharply. “I laughed at your jokes,” he tells Danny, and it’s clearly an accusation if the way that he puts an arm protectively in front of Scott is in indication. “And you’re friends with Jackson Whittemore?” He says Whittemore the way that people usually say words like pedophile, and Lydia chokes back a laugh, raising her drink in celebration.

Allison offers Lydia a high five, toasting her drink as well. “How’d you know how to do that?” she asks lowly.

“When I told Stiles that Jackson was the player we knew on the team, he looked at me like I’d just vomited all over him. I figured there was probably some distaste there,” Lydia acknowledges, watching as Danny tries to defend himself. As long as he doesn’t try to defend Jackson, things should actually go fairly smoothly.  
Seemingly fed up with the argument, Danny grabs his drink and points to Stiles menacingly, “I’ll be back.”

Once Danny’s gone, it only takes a few seconds before Scott and Stiles remember Allison and Lydia, and as they turn back to them, Allison hisses in her friend’s ear, “If he doesn’t call me after tonight I won’t talk to you for a week.” And a week is a little more than Lydia deserves, Allison continues, “Look at his arms.”

And, okay, maybe Lydia will deserve a full week of the silent treatment.

“In my defense,” Lydia starts, faltering when she realizes that there’s really not a lot she can say that’s in her defense. God damn Danny for just leaving her like that.

Scott bites his lip, turning to Allison and asking, “So you’re still going to MIT?”

Pressing nails into Lydia’s arm, Allison explains, “I was trying to cover for Lydia, she gets so embarrassed by–”

“By stalking people?” Stiles asks, snickering. “I think I’d be a little embarrassed, too. I mean, really, Lydia, couldn’t you resist my dashing good looks?” he asks, throwing an arm over Lydia’s shoulder as he breaks down into laughter. “Was your mother’s description of me just too tempting?”

As Lydia feels Allison’s nails release her arm in surprise, she takes a moment to adjust. Okay, so that just happened. Stiles thinks it’s funny. Laughing, she waves him off. “Oh, no, her description of you sounded so terrible that I just didn’t believe you could exist.” And it’s weak, nowhere near her best, but she’s feeling a little off balance today. To make it seem a little more natural, she offers a hair flip, and Stiles just keeps laughing.

Nervously, Allison joins in the laughter, and it’s so stupid that Lydia can’t help but join in. Stiles chokes out, “She stalked me, Scott!” and even Scott joins in, leaving a room full of drunk people staring at the group who can’t keep it under control.

When it seems like things might be dying down, when Lydia is taking the time to breathe between her laughs and Scott is merely leaning against the wall and chuckling to himself, and Allison is finding getting a hold of herself, Stiles is still holding his sides. And when he looks like he might be calming down, one look at Lydia and he’s losing it again, wiping tears from his eyes as he mumbles something about stalking, sending himself further into giggles.

Finally getting his breathing under control, Stiles wipes at his eyes and stands, looking at Lydia as his shoulders shake. “I mean, really, that is, a totally, normal thing to do,” he tells her, somehow managing to keep a straight face as Lydia starts laughing again as well.

Danny interrupts them, dragging Jackson into the mix and pointing towards Scott and Stiles accusingly. “Why do you always have to ruin it when I try to make new friends?” he demands, crossing his arms.

Jackson looks around at everyone, taking in the scene of Lydia and Allison hanging around his two of least favorite teammates. “What did I do now?” he asks, glaring at Stiles.

Stiles only breaks down into laughter once more. He gasps, tugging on Lydia’s arm, “You dated that!”

Scott’s eyebrows rise, Allison looks down in shame, Danny rolls his eyes, and Lydia can’t help herself. She starts laughing again, too.


End file.
